Favors, Strings, & Lies_Men of NatEx_A Package Handlers Novel Read online

  I shake my head so that what she said registers correctly. I shouldn’t be focusing on the underwear set she’s removing from the box. “Strawberry is the best,” I say, folding my arms over my chest to pretend like I’m fully invested in our conversation.

  “Oookay.” She draws the word out for a few seconds as she puts the box on the ground and holds the panties she ordered up to her body as if to check if they’ll fit. “Well, you enjoy your disgusting strawberry jam and I’ll stick with my grape jelly.” Then she whips her head up to look right at me. “Meet me at the country club at three thirty on Saturday for the wedding, okay?”

  With that, she picks the box up and prances off like she didn’t just make my imagination run wild. I don’t let her get very far, reaching out to touch her arm before she’s out of reach. She freezes in front of me for only a moment before spinning around to face me.

  “How about you give me your number”—I pull my phone out of my front pocket—“so I can call you with any questions I have about what to wear?”

  “And how about you just wear whatever tux you have in the back of your closet?” she suggests.

  “You don’t want us to match?” I ask. Then I take a step closer to her. “You don’t want to impress your family with how awesome we are as a couple?”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “You don’t have to rub it in,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest the best she can with full hands.

  So I relieve some of the burden and steal her brand-new panties from the pile. “And you don’t have to pull stunts to get my attention.”

  “Who said I was—” she starts to say.

  But I throw a hand in the air—the one with her panties. “I’m not stupid.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” She snatches her underwear out of my hand, looking around to make sure no one saw that. “But this is the only way I can get ahold of you, and look. It worked.”

  I close the space between us and trail my hands down her back to her butt, pushing our bodies closer together. “You know what else works?”

  Her lips part and a soft moan escapes her lips before she can stop herself.

  Leaning forward, I touch my lips to her ear. “You didn’t give me a chance the other night to show you how well it works.”

  With her mouth near my own ear, she gasps as her already-sweaty body melts against mine. She’s practically limp in my arms, our clothes and the box the only things between us. All of that could be fixed in an instant if she wants to let me inside. Inside her home, inside her body—I’ll take both.

  So I bite the bullet and ask. “Want me to show you now?”

  A breathy, “Mmhm,” leaves her lips, and then she nods. I waste no time before picking her up and bolting for her front door. She wraps her legs around my waist, squeezing my middle with an intensity I didn’t expect from her thin, lithe frame.

  Once we’re inside, I kick the door closed and spin us around so her back is against it. She drops everything in her hands, leaps forward, and kisses me, something she seems to always do when we’re alone inside our homes. I’m certainly not complaining, and this time, I open up for her and tangle our tongues together. My hands slip on her sweaty, slick shoulders, but I end up getting her tank over her head anyway.

  She starts unbuttoning my uniform shirt, but she ends up ripping buttons off at the bottom in her haste to remove it. Once it’s off, she drops it to the floor. Then she points to the hallway and moans out, “My room,” as I kiss up her neck.

  I make sure I have a good hold on her before heading that way. In her bedroom, we tumble onto the bed, and she works my belt to get my pants off. Once I’ve kicked out of them, I pull her jogging pants down her legs, her panties coming with them. Her sports bra is next, and then we’re fully naked, pressed together, ready for more.

  “Condom,” she says, pointing in the direction of her nightstand.

  So I sit up and reach into the drawer, hoping to find one in there. When I do, I wonder what that says about her. But not enough to stop. Instead, I work the condom over my hard dick and line it up with her opening.

  Before I drive into her, I swipe a finger through her folds and find her soaked. That somehow makes my dick even harder, so before it breaks off, I push inside.

  And nearly come on the spot.

  ∞∞∞

  Cadence

  Oh, holy shit. The way this man fills me… All I can do is moan loudly. So loudly.

  I’ve barely had a chance to catch my breath from my run, but I don’t need it. I could die right now from lack of oxygen and be totally okay with that. As he slides in and out of me, I find my own little slice of heaven right here on Earth. In my room. While I’m on my back and naked for his man.

  This man whose real name I still don’t know.

  Not one inch of me cares, though, as he fucks me with an intensity I’ve never known—and didn’t know I enjoy until now. I don’t need to know his name to know that I was right before. This is the best sex I’ve ever had, and one time won’t possibly be enough. But I can’t think about any of that as he thrusts, the friction between us sending me so close to the edge. He drives into me with a relentless, steady rhythm that has on me on the cliff of a climax within seconds. Everything about this encounter is sexy and wild. But feeling him inside me is almost more than I can take.

  Remembering how his tongue felt on my clit helps push me right up to the edge, and I cry out as he bottoms out inside me.

  His muscular arms flex as he holds himself up above me. I turn my head and stare at one of them but have to squeeze my eyes shut moments later when the pleasure of this moment becomes nearly unbearable.

  “Come for me,” he rasps into my ear, pounding into me again and again.

  So I do. On a high-pitched groan, I come for him, my walls fluttering and pulsing around his hard cock. I barely have time to appreciate that that’s never happened to me before like that. Because then he’s falling over the edge, joining me on cloud nine, after one last thrust, burying himself to the hilt inside me and grunting through his release.

  A grunt that sounds suspiciously like my name.

  And I suspiciously like the sound of my name coming from him.

  Especially on an orgasm-induced grunt like that.

  An orgasm he had with me.

  In my bed.

  After our one night together.

  My ridiculous thought pattern bursts when he places his lips on my sweaty forehead. My focus zeros in on how perfect they feel there. How right and sweet and nice it is. Then he tilts his head down to look at me.

  “You’re amazing,” he says, awe tingeing his voice.

  My skin flushes red hot. Without the safety net of alcohol coursing through my veins, I’m not sure how to respond. You are too seems like a pedantic thing to say. Something too simple for what just happened. So I let the words wash over me instead and smile up at him, content to savor the moment. Then, before pulling out of me, he kisses the tip of my nose.

  Which may feel like an innocent thing to do, but to me, it’s a reminder of exactly why I don’t want a boyfriend. Why I don’t want to date and mess my goals up. Intimacy like that can cost me everything. I have to stay focused. I have no time to lose myself by getting caught up in a relationship that won’t last. Again.

  I point to the bathroom so he can clean up, and he heads in that direction. A minute later, he’s back in my bedroom. Naked as the day he was born and unashamed of his nude state. Which he should be. I could stare at him forever and ever. Even if I don’t think we should sleep together anymore.

  “Why are you getting dressed?” he asks as he approaches me. When he sits on the bed, he palms my bare shoulder and trails it down my back to rub small circles on my skin. Then his lips replace his palm on my shoulder.

  “Uh…” That’s all I have to say, apparently. Nothing else comes out of my mouth.

  “I’m done with work,” he informs me. “And you’re home, so what’s the harm?”

  �
�The harm is that we said this was for one night.” I stand, a fresh pair of panties around my hips. At my dresser, I remove a pair of shorts and put those on. Then I say, “And this is a second…day. I need you at my sister’s wedding more than I need an orgasm,” as I pull my shirt on over my head and my ponytail out of it.

  His head whips back as he narrows his eyes at me, but it’s only for a moment. He erases every trace of pain from his expression before it’s too late. Before we both have to acknowledge that I hurt him with my words, which turns my stomach. This is quickly spiraling out of control, so I go to pick our clothes up off the floor for something to keep me distracted.

  “Hey,” he says, reaching out to touch my arm as I bend to the floor. “I’m sorry if I upset you.”

  I look at where he’s touching me first. The contact is warm and comfortable, all the things I don’t want it to be. Then I raise my gaze to his and wait for him to say something else. Anything I say right now probably won’t be good. And I’m already tired of self-destructing.

  He takes his pants from my hands and puts them on. As he does his belt, he says, “If I promise to go to the wedding with you no matter what, can I take you to dinner, please? We both could eat, and maybe we could have an actual conversation for once.”

  I want to say that we’ve done plenty of talking, but he does have a point in there. While I’m starving—mostly thanks to my run, but also thanks to that post-workout workout he just gave me—I also need to know things about him. So that, when my family asks me about him at the wedding, I’ll have some answers. Some truthful answers. The less lying I have to do, the better.

  And, well, a meal sounds good.

  I ignore the part of my brain that’s excited to spend real time with this man though. That part of my brain will do me no good at all.

  “Sure,” I tell him, sorry that it means he’ll have to put a shirt on. But then I remember what I did to his shirt before we got to my bedroom. “But you might need new clothes to wear.”

  He looks puzzled for a second before it dawns on him. “Oh yeah.” Then he chuckles. “Well, I have to take the truck back anyway, so if you don’t mind a stop at work and a stop at my place for a shirt, then we can get dinner.”

  “I can just meet you somewhere,” I say, thinking of all the different things I could get done in that span of time. I have clients to email, open houses to book… I’ve ignored so much of it with the wedding coming up, but I won’t let him distract me too.

  “If I agree to that, I’m afraid you won’t show up.” He gets up off the bed and encircles me in his embrace, his hands on my butt to press me closer to him. “And I definitely want you to show up.”

  That hadn’t crossed my mind, but I can see why he’d think that. Though…

  “Aren’t you the one who usually leaves before you should?” I smirk up at him, one eyebrow high on my forehead.

  He smirks right back, those dimples shining like a light in the darkness.

  Is that weakness in my knees? Is that a flutter in my heart? I want to tell it all to fuck off, but he breaks away from me sooner than I get a chance. Then I hide a deep breath while his back is to me.

  Right before he exits my room, he points a finger at me and says, “Touché.” Then he’s gone.

  And I trail behind him, smiling like an idiot, not at all worried about my heart—and my future plans—like I should.

  Chapter 9

  Matt

  I want to hold her hand. That’s all I can think about as we walk into the restaurant for dinner. Her hand is empty and could use mine to keep it warm. And, well, I want to be touching her at all times. Because, apparently, I’m creepy like that now.

  I’m way more drawn to her than I accounted for. Aidan clearly saw more of this than I did with all of his “your girl” stuff. Because that’s the only thing I want her to be right now. Everything else is inconsequential. All that matters is that I make her mine.

  But fuck that.

  That’s the recipe for disaster. The equation to getting my heart stomped on, chewed up, and spit out yet again. And that’s a big old nope to that happening right now. I’m enjoying the single-and-free life, where nothing all that bad happens and I don’t have to worry about depression so fucking awful that I can’t get out of bed in the morning. So…no. None of that, please.

  That doesn’t mean I won’t torture myself with taking her out to dinner and going to that wedding with her, where I’m sure she’ll look like a million bucks and I’ll want nothing more than to get her out of her dress and onto her back in my bed. I don’t even need the real thing to feel the torture, it seems. Just thoughts of the future are doing it already. Wonderful.

  I shake the thoughts off—all of them—and return my brain to the present moment. The one where I’m with Cadence and we’re getting a table for two to eat and discuss all things Brian. Whoever the fuck he is.

  When the waiter leaves us alone with our menus, I try to look through mine, but after a few moments, I feel Cadence’s green stare on me. She has a penetrating gaze that burns me with a single look, so I glance up over my menu before locking my gaze with hers.

  “Yes?” I say, a small smile on my mouth.

  “I need to know about you, Brian.” She sets her menu down and folds her arms on the tabletop.

  “Well.” I let my menu join hers. “Let’s see.” Cracking my knuckles, I think of all the things I can say about this Brian character. I can be anyone I want to be and no one would be the wiser—even Cadence herself, for the most part.

  So I do what any man in my position—which is the one where he actually likes the girl who needs the favor—would do. I tell the truth. About myself.

  “I, ‘Brian,’ love baseball, fall weather, and my family. I have a younger brother, Jeremy, who lives near our parents while he goes to college. My sister, Dani, is in high school. And my grandpa is at a local nursing home, battling Alzheimer’s.”

  Her eyes are wide as she cocks her head to the side and stares at me like she’s unsure who I was really talking about. This made-up Brian person or the real-life Matt. We didn’t say whether or not I’d make up a character—which isn’t shocking, considering we haven’t said much about anything at all to each other.

  Yet we’ve had sex, which is usually the way I like it: sex without a lot of conversation.

  But not with her.

  No, not with her. Something bothers me about being out of order with her. She’s not the kind of woman you fuck and never call again, even though she says she wants to be. She’s just not, and I’m sure that’s why I’m so attracted to her. We always want what we shouldn’t have, don’t we?

  She doesn’t get a chance to respond, because the waiter comes to the table to take our drink orders. We enter a staring contest without verbally acknowledging it, our lips tipped up into tiny smiles. Then the waiter comes back with her wine and my water. When he asks for our food orders, we ask him for a minute to look the menus over.

  “Are you recovering?” she asks before sipping her drink.

  I counter with, “Me or Brian?” as I open my menu.

  She pauses with her glass at her lips. Then she sets it on the table and flips her menu open. “Either one.”

  So I shake my head. “I took you home from a bar, remember? Not many addicts would be found in a place like that.”

  She dips her head in a nod. “True. So, why water?”

  “I need to keep my head clear around you,” I confess, leaning over my menu to be closer to her. “You’re dangerous.”

  One eyebrow rises.

  “Okay, the real answer?”

  She lowers that eyebrow and nods.

  I readjust my position in my seat. “I have a bit of a troubled past with alcohol. And other stuff. My ex was a bit of a user, and not being clear-headed about things blindsided me like you wouldn’t believe.” After picking my glass up, I slowly sip my water. “So I stick with this.”

  “Fair enough.” She nods again. “So, how long hav
e you been delivering packages?” Then she picks her wine glass back up.

  I go back to perusing my meal options. “Seven years. It’s a good gig,” I say without lifting my head. Then I figure out what food I want and close the menu. “What about you?”

  “Have you traveled at all?” she asks without answering my question.

  It’s my turn to cock my head to the side and stare at her. “You think your family will ask you if I’ve traveled?”

  “No,” she says, flipping her menu closed, “but they may ask if Brian’s traveled. I should be prepared.”

  “You know, this is a lot of work already,” I tell her, propping my elbow on the table and my head in my hand. “I thought I was just going to enjoy some free food and dancing.”

  “Which you are. It’s payment for coming with me.”

  At that, I sit up straight again. “Oh, so I’m a prostitute now? Is this Pretty Woman: Man Edition?”

  She flushes bright red, her face on fire. Naturally, this is when our waiter comes back to take our food order. So we rattle it off and hope he doesn’t care about our dinner conversation.

  “I didn’t say that,” she says quietly. “I’ll pay for your dinner tonight if it’ll make you happy.”

  “Just being in your presence makes me happy,” I confess, smiling at her in a sarcastic way to cover up the fact that I told her the truth.

  She wads up my straw wrapper and chucks it at me. When it hits me square in the chest, we both softly chuckle, but a sparkle in her eye tells me that she’s warding the truth off. Hiding behind being playful and asking these questions. She thinks she’s getting made-up stories, but she knows she’s hearing some truths. The more I tell her, the more I want her to figure out what’s true and what isn’t. The more fun this is. The more I enjoy being around her. The more I lo—

  I abruptly stop laughing and clear my throat. “So, what are your parents’ names? Seems like something I should know before the wedding.”

  She grabs her wine glass. “It’s just my mom. Sally.”